


you could drown in those eyes, i said (so it's summer, so it's suicide)

by voxofthevoid



Series: couldn't get the boy to kill me [6]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Consensual sexual violence, Dominance and Submission, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Pseudo-Hate Sex, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Rough Sex, Sadism, Some Emotional Fuckery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: It’s a hell of a sight, Captain America pinning you to a wall, his hand tight around your throat.The public would have a conniption, seeing him like this. They’re used to the good Captain being violent in defense of all that’s good and right in the world, but they couldn’t handle this wild, angry man, the sharp teeth bared in a snarl, or bright blue eyes blazing with fury. There’s no righteous rage here, no noble sacrifice, only a man stripped bare of kindness and restraint, feral with the need to sink his teeth into something and make it hurt.This isn’t Captain America. This is Steve Rogers, and he might leave his stars and stripes when he peels off the suit but his hands will always be red with blood, and they’re now wrapped around Bucky’s throat, a threat and a promise._Captain America and the Winter Soldier are teammates. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are complicated.





	you could drown in those eyes, i said (so it's summer, so it's suicide)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from “Little Beast” by Richard Siken.
> 
> This isn’t dealt with in the story but this is a Captain America Steve/Modern Bucky Barnes AU where Bucky’s with S.H.I.E.L.D and became an Avenger along with Natasha and Clint during the Chitauri invasion. This piece is all porn, but I might make this a series and flesh out the world more.
> 
> Edit 24 Jan: I'm weak and have made this a series. More to follow, all likely one-shots. 
> 
> Note the tags, feel free to ask for clarifications, and let me know if you want anything tagged.

It’s a hell of a sight, Captain America pinning you to a wall, his hand tight around your throat.

The public would have a conniption, seeing him like this. They’re used to the good Captain being violent in defense of all that’s good and right in the world, but they couldn’t handle this wild, angry man, the sharp teeth bared in a snarl, or bright blue eyes blazing with fury. There’s no righteous rage here, no noble sacrifice, only a man stripped bare of kindness and restraint, feral with the need to sink his teeth into something and make it hurt.

This isn’t Captain America. This is Steve Rogers, and he might leave his stars and stripes when he peels off the suit but his hands will always be red with blood, and they’re now wrapped around Bucky’s throat, a threat and a promise.

Bucky started the fight; he remembers that much through the familiar haze settling over his mind. Bucky always starts the fight. But Steve’s no better, playing into his hands each and every time, even though he has to know by now that Bucky’s doing it on purpose, that he doesn’t care about let alone believe the shit he spews. Steve isn’t easy to rile up unless you’re Tony Stark or Bucky Barnes, and even Stark has more sense than to prod at him the way Bucky does.

Then again, Stark’s not the one who likes getting punched.

Bucky takes a moment to enjoy the position he’s in; breathing’s hard with Steve’s iron grip, and it doesn’t matter how much Bucky claws at him with hands both metal and flesh. He doesn’t let up, not until Bucky makes him. He doesn’t want to, not really, but there’s a way these things go, a pattern, a set routine, and Bucky can’t break it for his own sake as much as Steve’s.

So he takes a moment, lets his blood burn for the bruises he can feel forming, and then he kicks out, grinning in spite of himself when Steve grunts, the breath knocked out of him by Bucky’s boot on his stomach. He recovers easily, doesn’t so much as stagger, just stepping back instead. Bucky doesn’t get to enjoy his freedom before an open-handed slap sends him crashing to the floor, head spinning from the force of the blow.

Steve’s the only one who can bring him to his knees with just a slap.

The same hand grips his hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking Bucky up until he’s poised in front of the bulge in Steve’s slacks. They’re fancy dress pants, sleek and fitted, and they do nothing to hide the effect Bucky’s state is having on Steve. It makes his mouth water, but all he does it swallow and glare up at Steve.

“No.”

Steve pulls his hair, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, and the next slap is gentler, almost a love tap. It still makes Bucky’s head whip to the side, held upright only by Steve’s hand in his hair. Both his cheeks burn now, throbbing in time to the pulse of his cock.

Steve doesn’t say much. He rarely does these days. But his free hand unzipping his pants and freeing his cock speaks louder than any words. It makes Bucky ache in turn, greedy even after all this time, but he turns his face away, twisting his mouth like he’s disgusted. Steve’s cock slides along his cheek, precum smearing across the bruise forming there and making Bucky hiss in mingled pain and need. Steve lets it be for a few seconds, just rubbing his dick along Bucky’s cheek. He wants to raise his head and see the expression on Steve’s face, but he doesn’t, just keeps his head low and mouth shut.

“Open up,” Steve finally says, voice gone dark and guttural. It makes Bucky want to show his belly and bare his throat, but he shakes his head instead, biting his lips just to drive Steve insane.

It works. The hand in his hair tightens, pulling sharply until Bucky’s whimpering through tightly pressed lips. Steve huffs and his dick’s infinitely softer than his palm when it slaps against Bucky’s cheek, but the sting’s still there, accompanied by the sharp burn of humiliation.

The first time he said no, Steve let go him like burned and scrambled away with horrified eyes. Bucky had to _talk_ then, and he hated it, unfairly resenting how Steve couldn’t just read his mind and give him what he wanted. But Captain America or not, it doesn’t matter because Steve’s many things, some of them dark and ugly, but a rapist isn’t one of them. So Bucky talked, spat out his words from between clenched teeth, and now Steve knows not to stop even when Bucky begs, and Bucky knows what to say to really make him stop.

It’s better this way, and that one awkward hour has been compensated tenfold, but there’s still that thrill of fear when he shakes his head and holds his breath to see if this is where Steve draws the line.

He never does, and this time’s no different. Bucky hides his relief in a choked breath when Steve’s strong fingers squeeze his jaw until fresh bruises start to bloom and Bucky has to open his mouth before something breaks. Fingers shove inside, both of Steve’s thumbs hooking along the sides and prying him wide open. His palms bracket Bucky’s face, huge and hot, keeping him perfectly still for the cock pushing past his lips.

He doesn’t bite, of course he doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop Steve’s fingers from digging into his skin in warning. Maybe he overestimates Bucky’s dedication to keeping up the ruse. Maybe he just likes hurting Bucky, seeing his face marked red from pain. It’s good either way, keeps him present and grounded, struggling not to choke on the cock that’s trying to crawl down his throat.

Steve doesn’t let go until he’s almost all the way in, and then he does, only to take Bucky by the hair and push him down on the rest of it. He gags, can’t help it, but Steve only groans in pleasure, delighted by Bucky’s throat convulsing around him. This never gets easier. Steve’s big, his cock perfectly proportional to the rest of him, and if he were a normal, well-adjusted human being, Bucky would take his time swallowing it, maybe use his hands to cover what he couldn’t and shoot Steve a little wink to make him smile.

But he’s not, and he only ever sees Steve’s smile when it’s for other people, burning all the while for the sweet curve of his mouth.

You make your bed, you fucking lie in it.

It’s better this way anyway. Blowing someone is always a performance otherwise, and Bucky’s damn good at it, knows how to tuck his lips over his teeth and flick his tongue and use his throat, but he’s gotta be _present_ for it, aware of every fucking movement, but with Steve, all he needs to do open his mouth and let himself be used.

And use him Steve does, fucking his mouth in fast thrusts, harsh and rough and messy. It gets him drooling, spit and precum wetting his chin as he gasps for breath. He claws at Steve’s thighs, fingers scrambling to find purchase in rock hard muscle. Steve doesn’t even seem to notice, his focus narrowed to shoving his cock deeper with every thrust, right until Bucky’s nose is buried in the thatch of golden hair at the base. Steve smells strong and musky, and it never fails to make his gut wind around itself. Bucky spreads his legs a little helplessly, cock twitching and ass clenching in the tight confines of his pants. He whines around Steve’s cock, reaching up to twist his fingers in Steve’s untucked shirt.

It’s hard to breathe with a throat full of cock, but Bucky doesn’t struggle, not even when his lungs ache. He can’t help the noises, small, pitiful things that make Steve’s hands tighten in his hair. He’s unceremoniously yanked back, all the way, not even the head still on his tongue. He whimpers at the loss before he can stop it, but he’s too fucked out to do more than gulp in air until his body stops thinking it’s gonna die and calms the fuck down. Steve lets him, waits it out patiently, kind save for his death grip in Bucky’s hair. It’s as good as a leash, and at times, like when Steve uses it to drag him back on his cock, Bucky thinks letting it grow is the best decision he’s made since he left the army.

Well, the actual best decision he made is goading Steve those first few times until Captain America lost his polished veneer and let his monster out. But he figures that’s a good decision the same way jumping into a fire is one. It’ll leave you cleansed, but only ashes will survive.

Bucky wouldn’t mind burning for this man until he’s ash and dust. There are worse ways to die.

Steve doesn’t fuck his mouth this time but drags Bucky along his dick, _making_ him work every fucking inch of it. It’s heady, maddening, Steve’s taste flooding his mouth until Bucky doesn’t know which way’s up. He can live and die like this, reduced to a pair of hungry lips and a hot mouth.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, only the shock of blinking them open when there’s a wash of bitter heat down his throat. Steve pulls out almost instantly, the last few drops of his come falling on Bucky’s tongue. He drinks every drop and sucks at the head while it slips out of his swollen lips. The sound Steve makes rumbles in his chest, and Bucky shudders at his feet.

“Get up,” Steve says, commanding but without the dignified restraint of Captain America. He’s raw here, all fire, and Bucky’s his gasoline.

He doesn’t make a conscious decision to obey, but he staggers to his feet like a drunk man, gasping wetly when he stumbles onto Steve and is caught and pressed back up against the wall, held there with strong hands gripping his shoulders.

Steve just looks at him, and Bucky wants to snap something, but he can’t find the breath to speak. He turns his head away instead and is stupidly grateful when Steve grabs him by the chin and forces him to look.

The orgasm didn’t mellow him much. It never does, but maybe that’s because Steve learned a long time ago to not let himself be soft around Bucky. He’s sorry for that, sometimes, but mostly, he’s fiercely glad about it. Soft things are ruined so easy, and Bucky’s too good at it. But Steve’s hard and jagged at the edges, a promise that Bucky can break himself against him until he’s bleeding dry.

And he does, tilting his head back and spitting curses when Steve’s teeth sink into his pulse. Skin doesn’t break, but blood rushes to the surface, and when Bucky looks in the mirror tomorrow, there will be collar of red teeth marks along his neck. He won’t look at them too closely, but he’ll want to.

Steve doesn’t kiss him on the mouth. He knows better.

Even now, all it takes is a momentary gentling, Steve’s teeth being replaced by soft lips that brush a shade too tenderly along the blooming bruises. Bucky lashes out, pushes Steve away hard enough to make him stumble and stalks forward those few feet with a fistfight in his eyes. Steve catches the arm before it can connect with his face, and Bucky puts up a fight this time, just so Steve won’t get complacent, but it ends the way it always does, with Bucky face-down on the floor and his left arm twisted behind him. There’s a knee digging into his back, keeping him pinned, and when Steve slides a hand into his hair like it’s his favorite leash, Bucky has to fight not to come on the spot.

His head is yanked back, and Steve is not gentle with him when he leans in. The brush of lips against his ear makes Bucky shudder, and the warning throb of his shoulder and the sharp pain at his back just makes it better.

“Don’t try shit, Barnes,” Steve whispers, as quiet as the grave. “I’d hate to break something.”

Bucky makes himself bite back a moan, but when Steve lets him go without waiting for an answer, he doesn’t so much as twitch.

Steve doesn’t bother tugging Bucky out of his clothes. His pants are ripped clean in two, the material expensive and strong but shredding like paper under supersoldier hands. That’s another pair of good pants ruined, but it was Stark who paid for it, who bullied Bucky into attending his stupid gala in his stupid suit, and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck, not when the only reason he came was Steve’s guaranteed presence. It’s better to end the night like this than stay in his apartment crawling out of his skin. He’ll hate himself in the morning, but that’s routine by this point.

There are times he wants to stop this just because Steve might feel the same, might wake up after a tryst with Bucky unable to look himself in the eye. But he’s never been all that noble, and he needs this, needs Steve, and really, he’s doing the best he can by not loving this man.

It would be so fucking easy to love this man. Easy to ruin.

His shirt suffers the same fate, leaving him in tatters of his suit. He lost the jacket at some point between taunting Steve in a balcony and taking the elevator to his floor. He won’t have anything to wear on the way back, so he’ll steal Steve’s clothes and Steve will pretend not to notice. Bucky has a whole section in his wardrobe dedicated to Steve’s t-shirts and sweats. He never wears them but doesn’t return them. Steve never asks.

Bucky’s hauled up onto all fours, rising out of his torn clothes. They’re a mess below him, and he’s no better once Steve gets his fingers into him, two at once and not so gentle. He doesn’t know where Steve got the lube. Maybe he’s taken to carrying it around. Bucky’s relieved and disappointed, because the slick means Steve will be in him soon, but there’s something to be said for the way he likes to open Bucky up with his mouth when they have nothing else and fuck him an orgasm later with only spit to ease the way. It hurts, it always hurts, but all Bucky’s ever wanted is to be held down and made to bleed.

Two fingers, that’s it, and then Steve’s done with the perfunctory prep. His cock is hard like he didn’t come down Bucky’s throat a few minutes ago, sliding into him in one rough thrust that makes him shout. His knees feel weak, almost buckling when Steve runs one hand up Bucky’s torso, nails scratching skin until his fingers find a nipple to pinch and tug. Nails scrape the little bud, digging into it hard enough to make Bucky scream. He clenches around Steve, shoving himself back on his cock because he needs to move and doesn’t know where else to go. Steve lets it happen, just keeps up his sweet torment on Bucky’s nipples while he fucks himself on Steve’s cock. He wants to beg him to stop and never, ever stop, so he doesn’t speak at all, just cries out with each harsh slap of flesh on flesh.

Steve gets tired of his chest eventually, and Bucky almost comes when his hands clamp down on his hips instead, keeping him steady for what he knows will be a pounding.

There’s no purchase to be had on the smooth floor, but Bucky tries anyway, fingers scrabbling desperately until a particularly vicious thrust makes his arms give out. Then there’s nothing to do but take it, aching everywhere when each snap of Steve’s hips makes stars burst in his vision.

It’s a quick and dirty fuck. Steve sets a pace that could break a man, hard and fast and brutal, fingers carving marks on Bucky’s hips while that thick cock splits him in two. It _hurts_ , too much too fast; he’ll be limping for days, and it’s everything he needs, it’s perfect.

When Steve wraps a hand around Bucky’s cock, he’s not every nice about it. The grip is too hard, too dry, and his fingers are cruel when they press under the head and tug at the foreskin. He pinches the base, and when Bucky shrieks, he does it again, pairing it with a sharply angled thrust that slides mercilessly along his prostate. It’s embarrassing, how quickly it gets Bucky writhing, gasping and begging wordlessly with each helpless sound that’s fucked out of him. And then Steve lets go, pulls almost all the way out, and Bucky sobs at the loss, tears wet on his cheeks, but he doesn’t have time to blurt out something stupid before Steve slams back in, punching a scream out of his lungs.

His palm comes down on Bucky’s dick in a hard slap that whites out his vision, and that’s it, he’s coming, screaming his throat raw. Steve fucks him through it, and Bucky thinks he begs for mercy, but he doesn’t get any, doesn’t _want_ any, and he tries to pull away only to feel Steve grab him by the waist and yank him back onto his cock.

He loses time a little, trapped between Steve’s hand on his soft, wet dick and Steve’s cock fucking him raw. It’s easy to close his eyes and stop thinking and just feel, rocking back and forth like a ragdoll.

He jolts back to life when Steve comes, flooding Bucky with heat that drips right back out of him, sliding filthily down his thighs when Steve pulls out.

There’s a moment when he collapses on top of Bucky, all two hundred something pounds of him, and it drives the breath out of him. It’s sobering too, and if they were different people, Bucky would make a quip, laugh, and maybe kiss Steve once he rolls off of him. He’s sure that there’s some universe out there where Bucky Barnes makes Steve Rogers smile and cuddles him after sex. He’s jealous of that Bucky when he’s too drunk to know better.

Steve rolls off him after a few seconds, brain probably coming back online. Bucky doesn’t move, focusing on regulating his breathing and the violent shaking of his body.

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, all that burning intensity sinking into his skin. But he doesn’t try to look and Steve doesn’t try to help. He’s glad for it, really, he is. He’s not proud of some of the things he lashed out with the first few times Steve actually tried to be _nice_ afterward. He never apologized either, never found the words to say that it’s not that he thinks those things, not that he hates Steve, just that it’s intoxicating when Steve tries to take care of him and Bucky would rather eat a bullet than give in to that seductive kindness.

But Steve learned well. All it takes is a few moments where Bucky doesn’t break down, and then comes the sound of soft footsteps retreating. A door shuts softly, just loud enough for Bucky to hear. Bucky doesn’t get up. It’s all he can do to breathe. After a while, the shower starts running.

He won’t see Steve again. There will be clothes in the bedroom, the bathroom door will be firmly closed. All Bucky’s gotta do is pick himself off the floor, get dressed, and get the fuck out.

And he will. He always does.

But he takes a few moments first to just press his flushed cheek to the floor and breathe through gentle throb every sting and ache in his body. He’s filthy with come and sweat, more bruise than skin. He feels wholly, gloriously alive.

It won’t last, never does. The high will pass, and he’ll feel like shit, and he’ll promise himself that he’ll apologize to Steve and never, ever do this again, and he’ll believe it until the next time the itch under his skin gets too much and Steve’s just _there_.

For now, Bucky lies on Steve’s cold floor and smiles with blood on his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a line below if you liked this (or want more)!


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